


The Fall of Boromir

by neunundneunzig



Category: The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types
Genre: Canonical Character Death, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Grief/Mourning, M/M, Masturbation, Necrophilia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-27
Updated: 2019-12-27
Packaged: 2021-02-24 15:53:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 891
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21980491
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/neunundneunzig/pseuds/neunundneunzig
Summary: Aragorn mourns Boromir.
Relationships: Aragorn | Estel/Boromir (Son of Denethor II)
Comments: 2
Kudos: 16





	The Fall of Boromir

**Author's Note:**

> Hey! Stop! Read the tags! Necrophilia! Do not process if you don't want to read that! It's not as explicit as others but I don't think this kink is really present in LOTR fics. So caution ahead!

Aragorn knelt beside Boromir. The man then opened his eyes and strove to speak. At last slow words came. "I tried to take the Ring from Frodo, I am sorry. I have paid." His glance strayed to his fallen enemies; twenty at least lay there. "They have gone: the Halflings. The Orcs have taken them. I think they are not dead. Orcs bound them."

He paused and his eyes closed wearily. After a moment he spoke again. "Farewell, my Aragorn! Go to Minas Tirith and save my people! I have failed."

"No!" said Aragorn, taking his hand and kissing his cheek. "You have conquered. Few have gained such a victory. Be at peace! Minas Tirith shall not fall!"

Boromir smiled.

"Which way did they go? Was Frodo there?" 

But Boromir did not speak again. 

"Alas!" said Aragorn. "Thus passes the heir of Denethor, Lord of the Tower of Guard! This is a bitter end. Now the Company is in ruin. It is I that have failed. Gandalf’s trust in me was in vain. What shall I do now? Boromir has laid it on me to go to Minas Tirith, and my heart truly desires it; but where are the Ring and the Bearer? How shall I find them and save the Quest from disaster?"

He wept, for his misfortune: to be struck with such difficult decisions, to be without the council of now two of his trusted companions, and to lose his friends. He studied Boromir's face for some time. It was light now, eased of the burden of confession and gazing off towards his home. 

Aragorn gave him a gentle kiss on his lips, then lingered. His heart was heavy. He knew then his hand in the Quest of the Ring was over. Frodo had departed alone after Boromir's betrayal to him. He had no Quest now but to return to Minas Tirith with none but ill tidings. He deepened the kiss. 

His lips pressed hard, carrying his anguish onto the body beneath him. He shifted more onto it, pulling his companion and friend closer. 

Aragorn braced a hand on the tree behind them, finding himself straddling Boromir's leg and half hard. He bit his lip, looking down in dismay at himself, too overcome to bring a stop to the behavior. He rutted against him slowly, letting out a soft sob. 

He kissed him again, sliding his lips into the still mouth, gasping against it with every thrust. 

"Oh Boromir." He groaned, lips finding the man's neck, kissing and sucking at it, "Why could you not stand strong now? Your fight is over, the halls… the halls of your home await you… Would you wake and walk to them, please..."

He gasped, his arms wrapping around the other man in a clumsy manner. He cursed himself for his behavior. He'd seen it before, men at battle torn so deeply by grief, but never had he expected the wave to hit him so sharply. So heavy were the burdens upon him now. The Ring was gone out of his knowledge, the Steward of Gondor slain down. He would come out of exile with nothing but the corpse of Boromir. 

He pulled back and looked upon his face. Aragorn had never taken in his beauty before. The lustre of elves surpassed it, certainly. But there was something undeniably attractive in the man, his roughness and strength. Aragorn kissed him again, holding his jaw, forceful, as though he could will him back to life through passion alone. 

He felt his pace quicken. He slid his hand down the front, touching bare chest, hair, wounds, and soft nipples. He felt all of this, exploring for the first and last time the man's body. He felt tears wet his cheeks. He could not have taken the man in his arms before, the thought hardly occurred to him. But he wished to feel his muscles ripple with energy, his lips respond to Aragon's futile kisses. 

Aragon sobbed again, then pulled himself out quickly and spent his seed onto the grass. He pulled back from the body, horrified now at his actions. He cupped Boromir's face, nearly speaking an apology but biting back. He threw dirt over the mess in the grass, disgusted by the presence of dead orcs, as though they had watched the whole affair.

Aragorn sat back and clasped Boromir's hand in his. An emptiness rattled in him. He stroked the knuckles and digits gently, letting his grief for his state fade out as best he could manage. 

So it was that Legolas and Gimli found him. They came from the western slopes of the hill silently, creeping through the trees as if they were hunting. Gimli had his axe in hand, and Legolas his long knife: all his arrows were spent. When they came into the glade they halted in amazement; and then they stood a moment with heads bowed in grief, for it seemed to them plain what had happened. 

They would never know of Aragorn's true depth of grief upon finding Boromir, nor of his actions. They lamented not coming sooner to the call. Aragorn felt guilt stir in him as Legolas spoke of Not letting his body be dishonoured, but the shame did not dig as deep as his mourning. He had held to Boromir as any companion in battle.


End file.
